


Your Turn

by SeafoamRidley



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Confrontations, Fix-It, Gen, I technically wrote this for my English teacher don’t ask, Implied Relationships, Listen I just wanted someone to get mad at Daisy ok?, M/M, Moving On, One Shot, References to Addiction, References to Depression, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeafoamRidley/pseuds/SeafoamRidley
Summary: Two years after leaving West Egg, Jordan Baker visits Nick in the Midwest. When Nick asks about Daisy, Jordan recounts the fight that happened between them the day after Gatsby was killed.
Relationships: Jordan Baker & Nick Carraway, Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Your Turn

It was an early December morning the day Jordan Baker came knocking on my doorstep. Before her arrival, I had been wasting my hours burning through cigarettes and reading over the job column in my parent’s living. It was how I had spent most of my days the two years following my departure from West Egg. All my troubles had been beside me for years now, yet the pit of something awful was still churning in my stomach. My Father, out of pity, had allowed me to stay even though I had blown large amounts of his money on liquor on the weekend and an expensive typewriter I hadn’t even taken out of the box yet. When I had heard the knocking that morning and saw her silhouette through the window, my body froze stiff. I hesitating opening the door, until her knocking became more insistent. I opened it to her standing in a emerald green jacket in the cold.

“Jordan,” I said with forced enthusiasm, “what a pleasant surprise!”

“Caraway,” she returned in her husky voice, “I’m glad I found the right address.”

I ushered her in and lay the emerald coat by the carpeted stairs.

Looking around living room stacked at the walls with old newspapers and books, she flicked her hand along the dusty glass of my mother’s broken grandfather clock.

“Quaint,” she said smudging the dust of her glove, “this is the exact sort of place I imagined you living, Carraway.” 

“Ah, thank you. Would-would you like something to warm you up?”

“Coffee will do.” She propped herself down on the sofa, already lighting a cigarette. I cleared the empty whisky glasses from the coffee table and walked rather frantically to the kitchen to prepare her request. But a billow of confusion and fear came over me. The sight of Jordan Baker and her emerald coat had brought back visions of sparkling champagne and glistening, golden walls illuminated by crystal chandeliers. Visions I had been trying to bury deep into my mind ever since I had left West Egg. I did my best to swallow those feelings as I brewed my guest’s coffee.

”Don’t waste your time bringing any confections out,” she called from the living room, “I’ll be gone by noon. I only came here to-I only came here catch up.”

Yes, because Jordan Barker was always one for playing catch up with her old flings.

Our conversations flickered in and out. She mostly talked of her poor season in golf, dreadful house parties and other matters I had little interest in. Most of that tedious hour had been spent over coffee and cigarettes. She explained she had been visiting friends in the Midwest who happen to live not to far from my parent’s house. She had done some sleuthing and had decided to pay me a brief visit. For a brief moment, she commented rather unkempt appearance, wondering if I was well. I quickly diverted the conversation to the subject of her upcoming tournament she had mentioned. My attention often shifted back to the grandfather clock. Although it was slowed, the time it measured showed that our meeting was nearing its end.

“I trust your engagement is still in place?” I said, desperately trying to make noon come faster.

She glared at me, observing. She was either studying my face or judging something foolish I had just said.

“Oh? Yes, the engagement. We broke off ages ago. Perhaps I mentioned it in one of my letters.”

“I must of forgotten.” I said. I had intentionally displaced every letter she had sent me.

“Not like you to forget, Carraway. You always had such an articulate memory, what with your writings and all.”

I felt my throat constrict. “I never showed you any of my pieces. Did I?”

An amused smile parted her lips. “During one of my visits, no doubt.”

I sunk into my chair with a nervous laugh, grasping my coffee. “West Egg, what a year. You’re probably returning there for the summer? To Daisy’s house?”

She scoffed, “as if she would allow me within an inch of that mansion ever again.”

I stopped drinking my coffee. “What do you mean by that?”

“Let’s just say my old “friends” served all ties with me the day after old Gatsby was shot.”

A knot fasten around my throat, nearly suffocating me. I could feel my cheeks flushing at her mere mention of the name. In a single instant, my mind flashed with the sight of his brilliant smile, wishing me farewell in the autumn sun. My fingers clenched at Jordan’s insulting recital of his name. The audacity she had in recovering all those awfulmemories. Memories that had been made in perfect light. Memories that had slowly blacken over time. I wanted to send her out of the house that very instant, but I swiftly calmed down once more. She seemed to notice my discomfort and softened her gaze slightly. I then allowed her to continue her story.

She recounted her recollection of the events that transpired the week Gatsby met his demise. News of his murder had spread quickly across Long Island and in wasn’t long before it reached the doorstep of the Buchanans. Jordan was still staying with the couple at the time and had planned to do so well into the month. Then the bitter news arrived. She had admit she had first thought of what my reaction had been to the whole ordeal. But her anger towards me at the time had shifted her concern to Daisy. She had remembered the sobbing and the pearls flying across the room the first time Daisy had lost Gatsby. She couldn’t bare to think how she would fret to loosing him forever. Daisy was locked away in her room at the time and Jordan had thought it sensible to go console her. To her dismay, she had found a rather bored yet content Daisy strolling about aimlessly in her bedroom. 

“Daisy,” she had begun, “I’m not sure if anyone told you yet. I don’t know how to put it-Gatsby’s dead. His body was found shot in his pool yesterday.”

”Is that so?” Daisy recited, “well, I’m terribly sorry to hear that.” She stepped towards her balcony and felt the autumn sun on her face.

”Terribly sorry? Why are you terrible sorry for me? I barely knew the man.”

”Then why are you so upset, Jordan?”

“I’m not. I just thought you aught to know since you-”

“I have no concern over the matter,” Jordan could hear a slight temper growing in Daisy’s voice, “why should I? The man is probably dead by his own volition.”

“Daisy,” her voice had begun to rise as well, “You had an affair with Jay Gatsby for weeks on end. You had told me you had never felt the way you had with him with anyone other man. You said you were going to run away with him and now that he’s dead you have no concern over then matter?”

Daisy walked away from the balcony and lit a cigarette she ha left on her night stand. The way she was flickering with the lighter told Jordan that her presence was no longer wanted. But she wasn’t finished quite yet.

”It means little to me Daisy but that man loved you, whether it concerns you or not.”

”Would you stop upsetting me? I’ve had a rough enough week as it is. I don’t need you barging in and exiting me over the death of some criminal!” 

Jordan stepped back. “You’re right. Just a criminal. Now I’ll know what a promise means from Daisy Buchanan.” 

I placed my coffee on the carpet, leaning in. “What did she say after that?”

”Well she called one of her maids to usher me out, wished me a good season in golf and the next day she and her dear husband were gone. They went on vacation supposedly. I haven’t been invited back to their house since.” Jordan placed her coffee aside and expression turned pensive. “But I suppose it was my fault. I had expected Daisy to react differently when I should of known better from her. She had already found peace with Gatsby in her own way.”

The two of us sat there, stuck between the silence. I looked down at the coffee table to see it littered with used cigarettes.

“It’s probably past noon, Jordan,” I muttered as I turned back the face of the grandfather clock, “You should get going.”

She sat there solemnly for a few moments until she sprung up and grabbed her coat from the stairs. I opened the door for her yet she didn’t move. She was still eyeing me in the same manner she had done before. She sighed.

“I know you want the real reason I came to visit. I wouldn’t of gone through the trouble of finding your address if I hadn’t thought it necessary. Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure we ended things ended right between us two years ago. I didn’t what to admit it, but you, by some miracle, left your mark on me. I couldn’t brush you off so I wanted to set things right today. I wanted to end whatever we had on good terms.”

I let out a sigh but she continued.

“I know you never loved me. You had eyes for someone else. I just wanted to make peace with that.”

Stepping out the doorway, she stood for a moment and letter the downy snowflakes falling on her hair and cheeks. 

“Daisy and Tom made peace with the situation that only way they knew how; by running. I came here today to move on in my own way.” She fastened the buttons on her coat as she walked further into the crystalline snow. “I suggest you find your own peace, Carraway. Before its too late. Thank you for the coffee. But it was a bit too dark.” She then vanished into the snow-linen streets.

I walked back to my armchair, somewhat stuck in a dreamlike state. Two years; had it really been that long? Had the memories of those glorious party and Gatsby’s illuminating smile really been trailing behind me for that long? What else, what other memories had I been keeping locked away all this time? How much had I been avoiding to confront for two, long years? I pushed myself further into the armchair and set my head back.

Jordan had made her peace. She had sent the summer of 22 to rest. Now, it was my turn.

I rose from my armchair, unboxed my typewriter and began to write.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s always a good day when your English teacher ships Nick and Gatsby.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and stay safe!


End file.
